


Thou Art What Thou Eateth

by Portponky



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Crack, Food, Food Fight, Food Kink, Food Poisoning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 13:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Portponky/pseuds/Portponky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is dandy in Camelot and then it's not and then Merlin has to save the day, sensually. Also, warning: some weird food stuff. There's also kind of implied drug spiking. Do you ever find that you can't really explain why you have written something? That's kind of what we have here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thou Art What Thou Eateth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fullofbloodandhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullofbloodandhoney/gifts).



King Üther sat on his giant smouldering throne. He was thinking about how much he hated magic of any kind. His court sat around him silently waiting for their elevenses. Nobody spoke, because speaking was sometimes considered magical by the King and, as we all know, the King hands out death sentences for magic like a used car salesman. Slowly, but turgidly, King Üther stood up and raised his finger to the back of the room.

“That. What is that?” he asked in a pompous and regal manner.

“That's Mr. Bennet, the junior finance adviser for the Berkham and Westshire districts, milord” said an unnamed court extra.

“I see,” said King Üther, sentencing the extra to death, “but you've not answered my regal question. What exactly is Mr. Bennet?”

“He is a giraffe, milord, we picked him up wandering the plains of Africa,” said another less condemned extra.

“Oh yes, I remember. Well, don't you think that it's very unusual for a giraffe to hold a ministerial position? Perhaps, one might say, magical?” he pomped, whilst writing another death sentence for the other extra.

“But you gave him that position, Dad,” complained Arthur.

“Look, stop disagreeing with me and start getting with the program. Mr. Bennet is to be executed along with Arthur.”

“You can't execute me,” moaned Arthur, “I'm the crown prince you knob.”

“Oh yeah,” said King Üther, and then gave Arthur a crown prince high five, “you are free to go.”

Merlin wondered if he should have wore his jester outfit. He wasn't exactly sure if he actually was the court jester. He'd kind of assumed so for a while and thought perhaps he should just start wearing the costume and make himself useful. Arthur was always buying him clothes to wear, usually assless.

The new chef, Damien Hitler, walked in with elevenses. He had a platter of delicious, tempting cress sandwiches, a particularly evil food. Everyone started chomping down on the sandwiches because they were so tempting, either because the chef had laced them with opiates or perhaps just because cress really is that tempting.

Later on, Merlin was fraternising with Gaius, who was just returning from the day's executions. He was explaining how Mr. Bennet wouldn't fit on the gallows so they had to use the electric chair instead. Merlin tried to voice his concerns. “Dad. I mean Gaius. I think the new chef, Damien Hitler, is possibly evil. I'm not saying that because he cackles and has a severe facial disfigurement. I think he might be a secret bastard!”

“I doooon't belieeeeeve it,” said Gaius, “who do you think you are kidding, Mr. Hitler?”

Gaius' stupid idiotic advice was as useless as ever. Merlin thought about getting another horoscope from that dragon guy, but he'd secretly learned that the dragon was copying them from Mystic Meg in the Daily Mail. Worse than that, the dragon wasn't even reading the right star sign.

Merlin thought he might try go visit those lesbians Guinevere and Morgana, as they often have some wise ideas about whatever's going down. He scooted over there pronto, and when he got there Guinevere was watching Glee and eating ice cream. As was typical, Merlin smashed through the window to make his arrival stunning.

After Guinevere stopped screaming and throwing ice cream at him, he got down to business. It transpired that Morgana had wandered off to go help with a murder investigation. Some high ranking bum from the castle had broken out in a cold sweat and passed away just like that, with his sceptre in one hand and one of Damien Hitler's highly addictive cress sandwiches in the other. There was an emergency power-meeting of the court of Camelot to see if there were any clues or hints about the murder, if any.

“It's about that,” said Merlin, “I think Damien Hitler is responsible. I'm sure there's something extremely addictive about his cress sandwiches.”

“Noooooo,” said Guinevere calmly, “why on Earth would you suspect Damien Hitler? Is it because he has a mysterious past? Is it because he is regularly seen conversing with the city drug dealer? Well, if he is truly a secret bastard, it'll be a real shitter for the Chef Off tomorrow. Arthur could be in danger!”

Merlin stared at her blankly hoping that he would start to levitate. “What's a Chef Off? I haven't heard anything about this. Why is Arthur in danger?”

“Oh silly Merlin,” said Guinevere, “you weren't listening in court were you? There's going to be a Chef Off in the city square tomorrow between Arthur and Damien Hitler. It's an ancient and traditional mix between cookery and violence, and Arthur could be in real danger if Damien Hitler plays dirty. It's not unknown for competitors to die in a Chef Off.”

Merlin began to never stop. He had to protect Arthur's handsome chiselled face and perfect, firm chest. He imagined running his fingers through Arthur's sandy hair and it was so soft and gentle, it was like getting in to a pillow fight with a furby. He paid Guinevere and went home.

That night he could not sleep and had a real hankering for a cress sandwich. He awoke the next morning with a pump. Arthur was already getting his full chef's outfit on. Merlin glanced in to the living room of their quarters and saw Arthur bending over, trying to pull up his chef's knickers from around his ankles. It was an intensely erotic sight for Merlin, Arthur's round squeezable bumcheeks rising high above him as he desperately struggled with the knickers. He spent about four minutes watching Arthur trying to correct apply the knickers, his eager bum waggling around like a pair of tempting peaches. He was drawn to Arthur like a bull to a pink flag.

Eventually Arthur, too confused by the chef's knickers, decided to go commando in his full suit of armour. Merlin entered once he was dressed and helped him put on his chef's hat. Merlin desperately wanted to tear the armour from him and swallow him whole like a tempting peach or a cress sandwich.

“Arthur... you've got to be careful out there. I'm pretty sure Damien Hitler is somehow connected to the mysterious death from last night. I think he's a secret bastard,” Merlin explained.

“Oh Merlin, my dear little friend, my dear little idiotic mad fool. You get the strangest ideas, you're like a confused child. It's good I'm charitable enough to keep you hanging around,” Arthur consoled him by rubbing his head bald and then hairy again.

They proceeded to the Chef Off hand in hand. The city square was done up lovely with stands for the filthy useless peasants to sit in and two kitchen counters set up in the middle of the square. Hundreds of people were already seated and waiting, with King Üther and his entourage in a very regal stand with a direct view of the action. Attendants were handing out free cress sandwiches to everyone. The thick, creamy rumble of crowd noise washed over the square like an unnecessarily hot nun caressing and bathing another nun. Merlin shuddered at this thought, and sternly told off his imagination.

In the preparation tent, Merlin had to give Arthur a pep-talk so that he wouldn't chicken out and mess everything up. He was just getting to the part where he emphasised that bravery and honesty can overcome a lack of cookery skills when Arthur started to blurt.

“Look Merlin,” he blurted, “I'm the crown prince. That means the honour of our kingdom rests firmly on me and I'll pull through by the seat of my pants if I have to.”

“But you're not wearing any pants,” said Merlin innocently, before suddenly realising that he'd just alluded to his prior bumwatching.

“How did you...? Have you...?” asked Arthur, suspiciously.

Merlin laughed it off. He laughed as if it were a lovely light hearted joke at first, but when that didn't work he started to laugh harder and harder until he thought he might choke. Arthur backed off a little and Merlin decided to give an excuse instead.

“I mean, I probably wouldn't wear underwear in this situation, and,” he blathered, “well, I, uh, I just really want to wash you later... uh, no, wait...”

Arthur grinned and then ungrinned so he could talk, because it is difficult to talk and grin at the same time. “It's okay Merlin, I never knew you had such a passionate heart. You can wash me if you want. Later. After the Chef Off.”

Arthur waved at Merlin, which was a little awkward because they were standing right next to each other, and then exited the tent in to the square. The crowd went from mild to wild. “I hope he doesn't die,” Merlin buttered.

Damien Hitler was already ready and waiting at his station. Arthur barged through a trumpet fanfare to his opposing station. The crowd was cheering and booing and jostling and eating cress sandwiches. The atmosphere was warm and friendly. At each station was a plastic bag containing five items from the local market. When Arthur reached his station, both competitors raised their hands and a large gong sounded. That marked the beginning of the first round of the Chef Off.

Damien Hitler upturned his bag and got to work without a pause. His bag had a loaf of bread, a stick of butter, two large punnets of cress and a miscellaneous unmarked bottle of pills. Arthur flailed and then started on his bag. It had a baguette, a thick sausage, a good sized parsnip with a tapered base, a well grown banana and a bag of eggs which immediately smashed on the counter due to Arthur's manly and powerful bag upturning. The crowd jeered loudly at this.

Arthur started trying to fry up the sausage in an attempt to make some sort of full English breakfast. Within minutes he had burned his oven in to a small pile of ashes. He looked over at Damien, who had just finished crushing the pills in a mortar and pestle and was sprinkling the powder in to a cress sandwich. In a Chef Off, you win by preparing the most delicious meal of the surviving competitors, so the only chance Arthur had was to beat Damien Hitler in to a paste.

He donned a colander and grabbed a cake slice, and then sidled up to Damien. Damien, who was a World Chef Off veteran and two times World Chef Off champion, expected this. He pre-emptively responded with a rolling pin slam in to Arthur's solar plexus, and then stabbed at him with a potato peeler. The crowd veered. Arthur fell back on his firmly clenched buttocks and rolled around in agony. By the time he had composed himself and checked his smooth buttocks were not blemished, Damien had almost finished preparing his eighth cress sandwich. Arthur yelled, “Time out! Time out!” and the action ceased. Everyone became hushed and Arthur trotted back to the preparation tent.

“Merlin! Merlin you little bum fondler! I'm a dead man out there! What do I do? It's not my fault, I had shit items.”

“Calm down, my lord, calm down,” said Merlin, “I thought you were doing really well out there. Top notch stuff. I think you're putting in lots of effort and that's all that matters.”

Arthur burst, and this time it was tears that he burst in to. He immediately shoved a full cress sandwich in to his mouth. “Thph hphhhmhmh phm mmph thmmth thmmm mmm mmm,” said Arthur.

“There, there, Arthur,” said Merlin, gently smelling him, “I think you're just fab.”

Arthur sobbed for a moment and then passed out. Merlin shook him a bit to wake him up, but it didn't work.

“Arthur! Arthur! Wake up! Medic!” yelled Merlin. He left the tent to find some help. Out in the square, everyone everywhere has just passed out. Every single person was out cold, from lowly disgusting peasants right up to Morgana, Mr. Bennet and even King Üther himself. In the centre stood Damien Hitler, up to his tits in cress sandwiches. He pulled one from the pile and motioned it towards Merlin.

“I'm not taking your cress sandwich, you secret bastard!” Merlin cried, “it's pretty obvious you've put some kind of a hex on them!”

Damien Hitler, unphasered by this surprising twist, grabbed a cheese grater and began to swing at Merlin, which was futile because there was about fifty metres between the two of them. Merlin, in an effort to not be grated, decided to end this once and for all. He lowered his chin and began to mutter.

“Obladi hakuna matata” muttered Merlin, and then threw shapes with his hands. In one giant diarrhetic burst, Damien Hitler was knocked unconscious. “And that's magic!” yelled Merlin.

Merlin was pretty happy with the result and ran back in to the tent to shake Arthur again. Within twenty minutes Arthur was back on his feet and even the rowdy crowd was coming around. Arthur emerged victorious as the Chef Off world champion, and the king decreed that Damien Hitler was to be sentenced to death for providing cursed cress sandwiches. The crowd sneered and then leered at the unconscious Damien Hitler.

That night, Merlin washed Arthur like he'd never been washed before. He thoroughly cleaned every crevice on Arthur's body and counted them (there were twenty six, if you can imagine). As they lay in bed together cuddling, Merlin gently whispered to Arthur, “now that Damien Hitler's had to walk the plank, we don't have a chef. What are we going to eat?”

Arthur thought for a moment and then instantly fell asleep. Merlin laughed, but he laughed silently so as not to wake his hunk with sweet buns.


End file.
